Restless to Begin
by ice-woman
Summary: post finale, takes place right after Ashleigh poses the infamous question, "It's the end of the world Cappie. What are you gonna do?" Cappie/Casey drabble. First "Greek" story.


"It's the end of the world Cappie. What are you gonna do?"

He's frozen, glued to his seat on the roof like a scared child clinging to the leg of a parent for protection. He's had more than enough alcohol to be honest with himself, and after all, that's why he's up here in the first place. Faking smiles with the boys and pretending he's exactly the same as always hadn't lasted all night long. _Hell_, he hadn't even gotten a glance at Sadie the Swedish exchange student that Beaver had told him about. Worse yet, he doesn't even _care_.

Luckily, Ashleigh takes his silence for what it's worth, a strong hint that he's in no mood for conversation, and she disappears back through the window, shooting him one last look of disappointment. He's used to these looks on the faces of professors and adults, but not _Ashleigh_, not someone his own age. He's not supposed to be this serious or feel this deeply or even blink when someone tries to get under his skin. He's supposed to be above these trivialities, or below them– one or the other.

Still, Ashleigh's question haunts him, unnerving him and making it difficult to concentrate on anything except Casey. What was it she had said, _exactly_? And why did he make her leave? Why was he always making people leave?

He's drunk and he's trying to convince himself that it's the alcohol talking, that he meant every word he'd said earlier.

He did, _does_, but unfortunately, that's not the whole story. Casey was being honest with him. She was being honest with everyone, _finally_, and now, now that he finally has his chance with her again, where is he? He's sitting alone and obliterated on the roof of a frat house.

Because, this is who he is. He's an irresponsible, unreliable, selfish, egotistical frat boy. He's also a guy in love with Casey Cartwright, but it doesn't _change_ anything. It's unfair, he realizes, but such is life, or something philosophical like that.

And now he's laughing, _he's laughing_, because he's astonished beyond all belief that he's sitting on a frat house roof, drunk and miserable, reeling through lists of philosophers in his head, trying to figure out what the hidden meaning in this whole mess of a night is. It's laughable, what he's doing, how he's acting. It's utterly _un_Cappie-like and yet it _is_ him, just not a side of him that many people see. Hell, he can _name _them all; Sophocles, Plato, Aristotle, Roseau, Cartes, Hobbes, Locke! He's a frat boy, wasted on a roof, but he _knows_ things.

Still, it doesn't make a difference in the least. He may be smarter than people know, but it still doesn't change who he chooses to be. He _likes_ the way he is. He's not ready to be anything more, anything requiring actual work or dedication.

Or maybe he's scared and making excuses. He's made quite a career out of fear and evasion, masquerading behind humor and subtle intellect. He's quick and witty and because of this, he can be whoever he _wants_ to be, so long as enough people believe him.

But not Casey. She was fooled by his act for maybe, a day, tops. She sees him, _really sees him_, and she still wants to be with him. He's floored. He can't comprehend what value she could find in him, what worth, what trait. He's no Evan Chambers and he never will be, and hasn't that been their problem from the start?

Only she's figured out that she wasn't looking for an Evan Chambers. She's also apparently not interested in awkward yet brilliant guys who treat her like gold. One has money the other has brains, both have looks, and what the hell does he have? A plan for how to survive a freak zombie attack? Sure, that _must_ be what Casey sees in him.

His mind isn't made up, but he's walking, and that's _something_, because five minutes prior to Ashleigh's impromptu visit, he'd made up his mind to sleep outside, away from the drama and the proximity to people. He spots Max as he walks, knee-deep in beer, looking tired and battered. He thinks about pulling him aside, talking to him. He's been there. He knows the pain that only Casey Cartwright can bring about and he knows the stigma she leaves in her wake. Except, he can't bring himself to face Max, because _he doesn't even like Max_, and he's remembering that his reasons for disliking Max are purely Casey-related.

So he leaves the crushed guy to his liquor-induced coma and makes a beeline for the door, wishing he felt more confident about what he plans on doing.

He's at the ZBZ house much sooner than he anticipates, and he hesitates, fidgeting with his hands before stepping up to the door. He considers knocking, but finds the sheer idea ludicrous, because all of ZBZ is at his party. Instead, he just walks inside nervously, searching the foyer frantically for any signs of her. He's not even certain she's here. He's just guessing and _hoping_.

He can hear noises coming from her room and his chest tightens at the thought of her crying. He never could handle her tears and he'll break if he sees her that way, frightened and alone, hurting _because of him_. He _hates_ that he's done this to her, because despite all of their childish antics and selfish games, she's still the only person he _loves_, the only thing worth waking up for some days.

He pushes her door open slowly, mouth pursed, ready to speak, but before he can, he notices Ashleigh on the floor next to Casey, stroking her hair and holding her head. Casey's eyes dart back to life at the sight of him and Ashleigh pauses, looking at him for answers, waiting until she knows for sure that she can trust him.

This is the part where he's supposed to say something mature and grandiose, and he _knows_ that and yet _nothing_ of substance is coming to mind. He's reaching for straws and with time passing too quickly, he says the only thing he can think of.

"I can't buy you a car and I have no idea what the square root of pi is, but if it ever came to it, I could completely save your life during a zombie uprising."

He winces the moment the words are out of his mouth, a brief, "Wait, that's not what I meant," uttered, and he catches a glimpse of Ashleigh smiling as she squeezes Casey's hand and heads for the hallway. She shoots Cappie a warning look before disappearing, closing the door behind her as she goes.

Casey's forehead is wrinkled with confusion, face still raw and tear-stained, though she appears more calm than Cappie had expected. She waits patiently, and he can almost hear her mind trying to make sense of any of the gibberish he remarked.

"That didn't come out right," he apologizes, joining her on the floor, sitting across from her, legs folded indian-style.

"Cappie," she begins, saying his name like it's _exhausting_ to her, like she's perturbed by it. "I can't _do_ this again, so if you're going to tell me I made a huge mistake by breaking up with Max, then you can just go, all right?"

He's staring at the floor, because he's strangely sheepish around her and his palms are beginning to perspire. He looks up and away, _not at her_, because he can't grasp words correctly when he's staring into her eyes.

"Case, I didn't want you to break up with Max for me," he begins, lump forming in his throat. "I mean, part of me did, but _if_ you did, I wanted it to be because he wasn't right for you, not because...."

Casey shrugs, picking at the carpet beneath them. "Max and I _weren't_ right," she admits and there's a slight edge to her voice. Regret maybe? "He was _perfect_. But he wasn't _you_ and I couldn't keep stringing him along. It wasn't fair to him."

"_Case_." He begins it like a warning.

"No," she replies, cutting him off, looking up at him daringly. "I know you think that this is some weird, recent discovery of mine, that I'm going to change my mind in an hour or something, but it's _not_, Cap. This has been a long time coming. I just never fully realized it until now," she shrugs, looking away nervously.

"Okay," he nods, signifying that he believes her.

"I know that it doesn't change anything," she replies, catching him slightly off guard. That was supposed to be _his_ line, and now that _she's_ saying it, he finds himself jarred by the remark, and surprisingly a little hurt.

"Right," he replies quickly, mind reeling. He looks up at her nervously thinking that _this_ is how it's supposed to be, this tedious tension and anxiety of the unknown. This is how he's always imagined relationships, awkward and messy, but _strong_ in spite of it all. It's just him and it's just Casey and they're on the same page, even if it's not the _right_ page.

"I don't know where we're supposed to go from here," she admits slowly, looking as if she might cry.

He's silent at first, because he's torn, as usual. He's not going to change for her. He _knows_ that. But he's _better_ with her, even if she can't see it. He's _more_ himself, more complete. He's never going to feel worthy of her and maybe that's been his problem from the start. Maybe he's been analyzing their relationship to death and casting himself in a dim light in order to _not_ deal with their problems. Maybe he's been too scared to try.

But now, he's terrified that if he _doesn't_ try, he may really lose her forever. It's one of those moments where his entire life is laid out before him and he knows, _he just knows_, that if he doesn't choose correctly, he's going to end up regretting it, _this moment,_ for the rest of his life.

He inches closer until their foreheads are nearly touching and he watches as if in a trance as she shudders from their closeness. She's always been able to hypnotize him _completely._ He stretches his hand forward, tracing her cheekbone with his index finger, brushing her face lightly.

"I feel like if I _don't_ try, I may never get another shot with you," he admits awkwardly, but honestly.

Black lashes close over ivory skin as she winces, stray tears now falling shamelessly down her face. "Then _try_," she begs, _pleads_ almost, looking up at him desperately, painfully, _like it hurts to look at him_.

His lips are on hers in an instant, colliding roughly, tongue tracing her lips fiercely as he lets himself fall into her. It's been so long since he's let himself get lost in someone, and the last time it happened, it was with her. They've come full circle since then, and he knows inherently that he'd rather break all over again than run the risk of losing her without ever trying. He's _scared_ and now she knows it, and he's vulnerable, and the rest is up to her. He's left everything in her hands.

Her hands, which are now digging unapologetically into his back, gripping him tightly, her mouth whispering lightly _not_ to let her go; as if he would be crazy enough to give her up now that he has her back.

He smiles as he pulls away, squeezing her hands warmly before wiping away the last remnants of lingering tears.

She laughs unexpectedly, crinkling her nose as she does so, unable to keep from smiling.

"What?" he asks, grinning widely, unable, for once, to find any humor in their situation.

She giggles again, scooting across the floor to lean against his chest before laughing again. She looks up at him oddly and asks, "What were you saying about zombies?"

Maybe it's because her timing is so off or because zombies are one of the most unromantic topics he can think of, or maybe it's just because _Casey Cartwright_ just said _zombies_. Whatever the reason, he finds he can't stop laughing, and lying protectively against his body, neither can she.

_fin._


End file.
